


Time Will Find My Dreams

by ThreeWhiskeyLunch



Category: Mass Effect
Genre: Caught in a Cave-In, F/M, First Kiss, Friends to Lovers, Two People in a Room, Warnings For Language
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-18
Updated: 2017-03-18
Packaged: 2018-10-07 06:36:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,860
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10354314
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ThreeWhiskeyLunch/pseuds/ThreeWhiskeyLunch
Summary: The job is finished for Zaeed: the Collectors' base blown up, suicide mission survived. He fully expects to be put off the ship with all the other misfits in Shepard's crew. But Shepard has one more mission that she won't let go undone.





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Intergalactic_Octopus](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Intergalactic_Octopus/gifts).



> This is a commission fic for intergalactic_octopus ([puzzlegirlsstudio on Tumblr](http://puzzlegirlsstudio.tumblr.com/)). She asked for her OC, Katrina Shepard, and Zaeed to be caught together on a mission alone. Her Shepard is older by a year than Zaeed.
> 
> If you haven't had the joy of seeing puzzlegirl's art, go check out her blog. It's pretty fantastic and amazing!
> 
> There's a playlist on YouTube if you want to listen along: [Katrina and Zaeed's playlist](http://www.youtube.com/playlist?list=PLjoUzCkW39GrJYI1Y_GgFTM7Cn3FmnuJ9)

Being smart and being lucky are two different things.  
  
Zaeed Massani knows this. Has lived it his entire life. Has worked hard at being smart so he can take advantage of the luck when it presents itself. And he’s become very good at taking advantage. It’s got him this far in a life that, by all rights, should have ended twenty years ago. He’s learned the hard way not to trust; and to take each surprise as it comes.  
  
Not that life offers up many surprises anymore. He’s been from one end of the galaxy to the other, seen a myriad of species and all the wonder and horror the galaxy holds. He’s watched those species be crushingly cruel, unbelievably kind, and everything in between. There’s very little left to surprise someone who’s been at it for as long as he has. And yet, every time he comes out of an impossible mission still breathing, he’s more and more surprised. As if his life is a schoolyard dare, and each successful survival just another reason to ramp up the dare: I triple dog dare ya. Logically he knows there will be an end to it. That this one in particular didn’t kill him just makes him wonder what the hell might actually manage to finally put an end to this old dog’s life.  
  
Well.  
  
Reapers might do the trick.  
  
Something about them gives him a chill he’d do best not to ignore. This is no time to get goddamn dumb.  
  
Everyone comes back alive and that should be a surprise right there: that nary a one of the crew was lost. As if Shepard had swooped down and gathered one and all to her breast and carried them off; an avenging paladin come down to scatter the enemy like detritus. Goddamn miracle if he put faith in such things. Which he doesn’t. Still, it’s a heady thought. Commander Katrina Shepard: goddess walking. The facts of her life do nothing to suggest otherwise.  
  
He’s keyed up after the mission. He always is. The lingering side effects of adrenaline that’s pushed through him for the last day making him restless; physically exhausted and yet mentally still speeding a hundred kilometers an hour. He showers. He cleans his rifles and armor. He surveys the cargo bay that’s been his home for the last year and begins to pack things away. Shepard hasn’t said what happens now, but he’s damned sure they’ll all be dumped at the nearest port so she can suck up her pride and turn herself in (and don’t get him started on his opinions on that). Which means Omega. Which means soon.  
  
Which means he needs to get his head on straight about his fucking feelings about that goddamn girl.  
  
Not that he’d admit to any sort of feeling. Not even to himself. So. Over and done. No feelings. No problem.  
  
Right?  
  
Right.  
  
Bloody hell.  
  
He’s been a lot of things, but never a liar. Not to himself, anyway. And this lie chafes. But there’s nothing to be done about it. He’ll go back to being an independent contractor and she’ll go back to creating whatever magic she wields to make the galaxy adore her. And there will never be a reason for either of them to meet again. They’re just two old war dogs, trying to stay alive in the face of unfavorable odds.  
  
No room for goddamn feelings.  
  
She turns up at his door looking freshly showered and strangely vulnerable dressed in sweats and a t-shirt. Out of armor, out of that goddamn Cerberus uniform, she almost looks like a normal person. But civilian clothes can't disguise that hard edge of steel in her eyes, the firm set of her mouth, the rigid posture built on years of standing at attention. ‘Yes, sir,’ ‘No, sir,’ ‘Send me another impossible mission, sir,’ has been hammered into her very frame, as integral as her bones and muscles.  
  
She gives the room a glance, taking in the tidying he’s done before she hands over a datapad. “After Zorya, I asked Liara to look for any signs of Santiago. She got a hit.”  
  
Well. Life does offer up a few surprises once in awhile.  
  
He takes the ‘pad and looks it over. Last sighting of Vido was on a frozen planet called Mavigon, which is in the back of beyond and will be impossible to get transport to. Good thing he has a stack of credits, he could rent--maybe even buy--a shuttle to get him there.  
  
“Pick your team,” she says.  
  
“What?” He’s sure he’s misheard her. Because it sounds like she’s offering up some help.  
  
“Your op. Your team. I...owe you. I don’t like unfinished business.” she crosses her arms and leans back on a crate. “You’ve proven yourself to me. So pick your team.” Her eyes gleam for a moment with a merry sort of mischief. “Unless you don’t want my help…”  
  
He blinks, for once in his life finding words in short supply.  
  
Will wonders never cease.  
  
~~~~~  
  
There are defensive turrets set up around the complex, but the Hammerhead’s canons make short work of them. They head quickly for the entrance to the old mine, long since depleted and recently purchased by Vido. Samara moves in behind him and Shepard, taking their six while Zaeed takes point. Inside they find a long tunnel heading down into the mountain; which leads to more tunnels and a waiting party of Blue Suns. The place is more than just a bit of a maze. They meet some resistance along the way, but it’s cleared out far too quickly for Zaeed’s taste. They had more fighting on Zorya.  
  
He stops them on the far side of a large cavern, feeling the prickling of nerves that tell him something’s not right. The other two can feel it as well: Shepard constantly checking the perimeter, Samara poised for a biotic barrier. There are two more tunnel entrances that lead off in a ‘Y’, neither one giving up any information of what lies beyond except another bloody door at the end.  
  
It’s obvious to Zaeed that Vido isn’t in the mine. If he was, he wouldn’t have been able to resist showing himself. Vido’s never had that much self control.  
  
“Bloody trap,” he mutters.  
  
Shepard gives him a look over her shoulder that agrees with him and defers to him at the same time. “What do you want to do?”  
  
And isn’t that just the sixty-four-thousand-credit question. There may be something down one of the other tunnels that could provide some information about Vido’s whereabouts, or Blue Suns resources. All it takes is a forgotten datapad, a computer that can be hacked into, even a crate full of supplies that might narrow things down a bit. On the other hand: trap. God only knows what lies in wait for them down there.  
  
He can almost taste Vido’s stench through his helmet’s air filter.  
  
The lure is too strong.  
  
“Samara, guard the rear. We’ll check each one of these tunnels quick, then get the fuck outta here.” Shepard nods her approval at his decision. They move down one tunnel, Samara at their backs. The door rolls open, overhead lights coming on automatically. The room is thankfully a dead end, small and bare of anything except a small locker that also proves to be empty.  
  
“Door number two?” Shepard asks and he nods, ready to be done with this place and the sour feeling in his gut that tells him something isn’t right.  
  
The next tunnel is a bit longer, but not by much. The door is also locked up tight. Shepard spends several minutes with her omnitool attempting to hack it, brow furrowed in concentration on her forehead.  
  
“Finally found a door you can’t get into?” He has to ask, because she’s always so cocky when it comes to hacking her way into things.  
  
“There is no door I can’t get into, Massani. Some just take longer.” She glances at him as he stands next to her with rifle at the ready and grins behind her helmet.  
  
“Perhaps I should call Kasumi?” Samara calls down the tunnel, a note of teasing in her velvet voice.  
  
“Don’t you dare! Last thing I—” The door slides open with a smooth roll. “See? All in good time.” She doesn’t hide the pride in her tone and he laughs to himself at her childish glee, even as he scans the room for threats.  
  
This room is a bit bigger than the last, and holds storage crates along with what looks like more of the old mining equipment they’d found on their tour through the place. The overhead light buzzes as it comes on. He takes two steps inside, Shepard moving at his side.  
  
He’s not sure which thing happens first. It might be EDI saying, “Shepard—”. It might be the -click- he hears that he bloody well knows means they’ve set off a trigger and an explosion is imminent. It might be Shepard’s hand on his back, pushing him forward. Away from the explosion. Away from the debris that shoots out from a corner of the door and the destruction that rains down on them.  
  
(He will later hear that -click- many times; a noise that intrudes on sleep, jerking him awake when he’s almost under so that his heart nearly pounds out of his chest.)  
  
Regardless of what happens first, what happens next is they’re tossed forward in the explosion. Somewhere along the line he allowed himself to be lured in by the taste of revenge and forgot to be smart. So the wall explodes and he has to hope for luck.  
  
~~~~~  
  
He ends up against one of the storage crates, wondering who rolled over him with a Mako. And who turned out the lights. He rolls onto his back, oily floor water washing over his armor. “Shepard?”  
  
“Here.” Her external helmet lamp comes on, lighting up her location on the floor on the other side of the room. “You okay?”  
  
Before he can answer, there’s a yelling scream on the other side of the rubble and what sounds like a smaller, secondary explosion. Fuck.  
  
“Samara!” Shepard yells.  
  
“Shepard!” Her voice echoes through the rocks, sounding far off even though she’s only meters away. “Are you alright?”  
  
Shepard says, “ _Damnit_. Massani. I’m stuck.” And then yells, “Both alive!”  
  
He switches on his own helmet lamp, pulling himself up off the floor with a groan. He gives the rubble a once over through the swirling dust as he makes his way to Shepard. It fills what used to be the door, spilling out into half the room. Had the explosion been any bigger, they’d be buried in their tomb right now.  
  
“Comms are down!” Samara yells. “I can try and get you out with my biotics—”  
  
“No!” Zaeed shouts. He kneels down at Shepard’s side and points up at the ceiling. A large crack runs in the strata just over what’s left of the entrance. “Shift any of it without support and that ceiling’s coming down.”  
  
“Shit,” she says softly. And then yells, “Hang on, Samara!”  
  
Zaeed clears off as much of the rock that he’s able that has her pinned down. But there’s a large one he can’t shift that’s resting on her boot. He does a quick search of the mining equipement, finds a steel rod and positions it to lever the rock up. “Ready?” She nods and he pushes up to release the pressure enough for her to pull back, scooting through the shallow water on her butt.  
  
“Thanks.” She tries to right herself, but her leg gives out from under her. He moves quickly to support her weight, tucking his shoulder under her armpit and wrapping her arm around his shoulder. “Okay, so...that ankle might be broken. _Fuck!_ Ow.”  
  
He laughs at her understatement of pain. “Never let ‘em see you sweat, eh Shepard?”  
  
“Not on your life, Massani.”  
  
He guides her to one of the crates, propping her up so she can half sit. The med app on his omnitool confirms the state of her anke. “Fracture. Looks clean, though. Keep the boot on, it’ll keep it stable.”  
  
She nods and swallows, administering her own medigel. A thin veneer of sweat beads on her upper lip, belying the pain she’s pretending to not be in. He doesn’t take his eyes off her until the analgesic kicks in and she sighs with a deep huff, tipping her head back and closing her eyes for a moment.  
  
“Shepard,” EDI’s disembodied voice breaks in over their comms. “I’ve managed to reroute communication systems. There was interference from the power supply that prevented me from seeing the explosive device. I apologize.”  
  
“Not your fault, EDI. Zaeed and I missed it, too.”   
  
He can feel her eyes on him as he steps back and looks up at the crack. Bloody lucky that whole thing didn’t come down. He shines his helm light on the equipment in the corner. Most of it’s rusted beyond recognition, the water around it swirling with rust and broken off chunks. But he spies a jack, of all things, buried underneath, and a few beams that might provide the necessary support. He half-listens to Shepard as she, EDI, and Samara discuss strategy to get them out while he uncovers the jack, throwing broken pieces of equipment aside where they splash in the water. Shepard shoots him a glare when he manages to make too much noise, like he’s playing around instead of trying to save their asses.  
  
“Samara’s going to meet the crew at the mine entrance and guide them down,” she says, finishing off her conversation. She taps at her omnitool before shutting it down. “EDI thinks six to ten hours to get us free. _What_ are you doing?”  
  
He tugs at the jack, grunting in his attempts to get it free. “Jack down here. Prop up the ceiling.” The jack jerks free from whatever had been encrusting its wheels and he steps back, splashing through the water, nearly landing on his ass again.  
  
When he turns, Shepard is attempting to stand.  
  
“The hell are you doing? Sit your ass down.”  
  
“You need help—”  
  
“You need to stay off that goddamn ankle.” He thinks he should probably be alarmed at the level of concern he feels about her injury, but he shoves that aside as he crowds her back onto the crate. “ _Sit_ , Shepard.”  
  
“I’m not a dog.”  
  
“And don’t I know it.” He walks back to the jack, muttering, “Stubborn old bitch,” under his breath.  
  
“Hey!” Her voice echoes off the walls when she barks after him. “Just because I’m a year older than you isn’t any reason to call me out on it.”  
  
He shoots her a glare, but in the darkness of the room he’s fairly certain it’s ineffective. “You said this planet has breathable air.”  
  
“Yeah. It’s just...really fucking freezing.”  
  
He notes the shallow water on the floor. Obviously here underground it’s not as cold or they’d be standing in an ice cave. He releases the clasps on his helmet and sets it aside on a crate, pointing the light at the dark corner. The mine’s air smells metallic and dusty, of earth and rocks and clay. He takes a deep breath and returns to work. It doesn’t escape his attention that Shepard takes off her helmet as well and adds her light to his, brightening the corner considerably.  
  
It also doesn’t escape his attention that she continues to fiddle with her boot, leaning down and poking at the space at the top, probably trying to scratch an itch just out of reach with her finger. _Bloody hell._  
  
If he can’t physically keep her from bothering it, maybe he can distract her in another way.  
  
“Some buddies and I were on this job,” he starts, ignoring her good natured groan, “doing some scouting. All the customer wanted was recon. Nearly a paid vacation really. So the four of us, we’re up on this cliff all spread out over a couple klicks. Looking down on a valley at an insurgent hide-out. Can’t remember what for. Doesn’t matter.” He manages to maneuver the jack underneath the largest section of crack, kicking rocks out of the way as he goes. Shepard’s eyes follow him carefully while she leans back on the crate. _Good._  
  
“We’re in a thick jungle. Middle of the day.” He grunts with the strain of attempting to jar the gears loose. “Humid as shit. Put our suit’s environmental controls to the test, tell you that. Saw some interesting...I dunno what they were called. Looked like giant cockroaches, only bright blue. Shimmered when the sun hit. Half as big as I am. And made this screeching noise.” He grunts again and nearly falls backward when the gears come free with a jerk. The gears grind, but slowly he manages to crank the platform higher, gauging the distance with his eye. “Goddamn jungle was about the noisiest place this side of Afterlife. Could hardly hear ourselves think.”  
  
“I’m sure you weren’t missing much,” Shepard says with a strained grin.  
  
He gives her a look, but he knows it doesn’t reach his mouth. Her grin widens and her shoulders relax a bit.  
  
“We set two guys to watch the compound and two guys to watch the forest because who the fuck knows what’s walking around out there. Couple hours went by. Got settled in. Next thing ya know, the entire forest goes quiet as the grave. _Something_ was nearby. Something that put the fear of god in every living creature for at least a two kilometer radius. Only thing you could hear was the goddamn leaves dripping. Put my hackles up, tell ya that.”  
  
He looks back over his shoulder to gauge her interest and isn’t disappointed. Her lips part slightly as she listens to him, leaning in with breathless concentration. He loves this. Loves getting her attention so she’s only focused in on him. It’s a heady sort of power: the great Commander Shepard hanging on his every word. Since meeting her, having her come to down his cargo hold on a daily basis and learning she has a yen for stories, he’d been digging through old memories, dredging through his sordid past for her amusement. He’s found that once he’s opened up the dam, he’s hard pressed to plug it back up.  
  
He stands, leaning on the crate she’s sitting on.  
  
She asks, “What was it?”  
  
He waits a beat, then two. Draws out the suspense, reveling in her spotlight. “No bloody clue,” he finally says. He hides a laugh when she blinks her surprise, her brows coming down in a frown. “Nothing on scans. Couldn’t get eyes on anything. Not even a fucking leaf moved wrong, much less a tree. Everything just...still. Eventually, whatever it was must have moved away. Forest came back to life slowly. Could almost track the movement by the sound. Like a sound wave moving through the trees. That noise was a goddamn relief after that, lemme tell ya.”  
  
“You never figured out what it was?”  
  
“Naw. We got out of there the next day. Whatever the hell it was never came back. To be honest, I wasn’t that curious. Something that could make the entire fucking forest go quiet wasn’t worth the threat to life and limb to be goddamn curious about.”  
  
She sighs and sits back, worrying at her lower lip. “Why do you tell me these stories? You’re such a jerk.”  
  
He just laughs and shrugs.  
  
~~~~~  
  
By the time he’s got the ceiling propped with a beam, they can hear the crew on the other side of the rubble. He checks the crates and finds a couple floodlights. He sets one up and they both wince at the brightness. He also finds a crate full of ammo, makes a quip about being able to shoot their way out if it comes to it. Shepard just rolls her eyes and pulls herself up to settle on said crate, the corners of her eyes tight with pain. He turns his attention back to the search, finding bottled water in one (small miracle as it is), and tech of all sorts in another. There are several datapads that are all key code locked. He empties a bag holding spare parts and shoves the datapads in to take with them. He flips the lid shut to find her worrying at her boot in an attempt to get it off.  
  
“The hell are you doing? Told you to keep that boot on, Shepard.”  
  
“I want to see how bad it is—”  
  
“It’s _broken_. That’s how bad it is.” He tries to capture her hands, but they dart away, releasing one of the clasps. “Shepard! Damnit—”  
  
“I outrank you, Massani,” she growls. “And I want to know how bad it is. It’s _my_ ankle—”  
  
“And you should know to leave the goddamn boot on! What are you, twelve? Bloody hell, Shepard.” He manages to grab her hand and keep it from releasing the last clasp. He steps closer, crowding her so she can’t see around him.  
  
“I need to—”  
  
“No, you don’t. Stop being so fucking stubborn.”  
  
“I don’t know how.”  
  
He’s only centimeters away from her. So close he can see individual pores in her skin (skin so rich he wants to fall into it), the flecks of almost-black in her brown eyes. Her chapped lips. _Goddamn kissable lips_. He’s spent numerable episodes _not_ staring at those goddamn lips. _Not_ thinking about kissing them. _Not_ wondering how they’d feel, pressed to his own.  
  
Fuck, he’s failing at all of this.  
  
He’s never been a man to do by halves; his life is a testament to All-or-Nothing with a daily mantra of What-the-Hell. Part of being smart is knowing when to bite it all off in a Universe that will never give a fuck-all about one single person and what they might want or need. So Zaeed Massani has few regrets: he either takes the opportunity when it presents itself or he doesn’t and moves on. Life’s too goddamn short and uncertain to worry about regret.  
  
He wonders if he’ll regret what he’s about to do. Because he’s not feeling inclined to not.  
  
He closes the distance between them slowly. Gives her time to draw back, slap him, push him away. Shoot him. But she doesn’t. She waits. Breathing as shallow as any good sniper might; her eyes focused on him as he leans down, her chin tipping up the closer he gets. Water drips slowly from the ceiling in the quietness of their shallow breathing. He presses his lips to hers softly, his heart a hammer in his chest. Only for a moment. Just enough to warm her lips with his, feel her press closer. Just enough to close his eyes and wonder.  
  
He pulls away and takes a breath. _Still alive is good._  
  
“What was that for?” Shepard asks. The corners of her mouth are quirked up in a grin, but her eyes are dull with pain and he mentally kicks himself for forgetting her current physical state for the sake of his curiosity.   
  
“Get yer mind off that goddamn boot.” He snaps the clasps shut and withdraws, not without some remorse. “Did it work?”  
  
“I, uh...yeah…” She seems surprised, blinking quickly before looking away. She looks around the room, as if searching for something else to capture her attention. When she doesn’t find anything, she flicks her gaze up at him and away, fidgeting a little on the hard crate. “So, uh…” She clears her throat and her voice drifts off into nothing.  
  
He laughs to himself, because if nothing else in his life, he can say he made Commander Shepard speechless. And that’s something in and of itself.  
  
~~~~~  
  
He pushes a crate up next to hers and they sit side by side with their backs to the stone wall. He pulls a deck of cards from a small compartment at his waist.  
  
Shepard laughs. “What, really?”  
  
He shrugs. “Passes the time.” He shuffles and deals. “Know how to play gin?”  
  
She nods and picks up her cards, rocking her uninjured foot back and forth, as if impatient about the downtime that’s been forced on them. He wonders how she’d react to a proper vacation.  
  
“Should have anticipated Vido’s trap,” he says. He stares at the cards in his hand, but doesn’t see them. The reality of their situation hits him; that he very nearly got them both killed for his single-minded desire for revenge. It’s Zorya all over again, only this time they’re both caught under that goddamn beam.   
  
Her grunt is noncommittal, but he doesn’t miss her eyes glancing up at him over her cards. She discards and picks up. Waiting him out.  
  
“Shoulda known he’d pull something like that. But...lost my head.” He searches for a way to apologize. “Got stupid. No—” he shakes his head when she opens her mouth. “Just let me say it before I change my mind. My fault we’re in this mess. Should have known better. I’m...sorry.”  
  
Her eyebrows spring up at that, but he continues, “‘Bout the only thing you can count on for surprises anymore is goddamn Mother Nature. Like that thing in the forest. Or kangaroo space cows. _People_ are predictable,” he says. Even while he thinks, _And yet, Vido’s eluded me for twenty years…_  
  
“You’re saying I’m predictable?”  
  
If he had any sense, he’d contemplate his answer; weigh things carefully. But he doesn’t have sense, so he says, “Well…” Even though he knows perfectly well she’s not. But he’s dug himself a goddamn hole, apparently. And now he gets to lie in it and let her shovel the dirt in on top of him.  
  
She fixes him with a glare that would fry other men’s balls. “Dying, and then not being dead--and not that I asked for that--is too predictable for you? Discovering the entire galaxy is doomed by a race of murderous AI’s is too predictable for you? Hunting up _Vido Santiago_ when I most certainly didn’t have to bother is too predictable for you?” She points at him, her cards clutched in her palm. “I’ll have you know I’m full of surprises, the least of which is _not_ punching your lights out when you kissed me!”  
  
“So why the hell didn’t you?”  
  
“Because I’ve been _waiting_ for you to kiss me for months!. Christ, Zaeed! You’re thick as a post sometimes.”  
  
Nothing has prepared him for her saying _that_.  
  
His mouth gapes open like one of those goddamn fish she insists on buying at every port they visit. He snaps it shut, not remembering what he was about to say. He places the cards in his hand on the crate, looking up to find her grinning. And this time it reaches her eyes, chasing back the pain of her broken ankle.  
  
“What’s the matter? Cat got your tongue?” Her grin widens. “Get it? ‘Cause my name is Katrina and—”  
  
“I get it.”  
  
“It’s a joke.”  
  
“Yeah, I get it! Jesus Christ. You explain all your jokes?”  
  
“Just the really good ones.” Her eyes shimmer, the corners of her mouth creasing her cheeks. He’s hard pressed to think of a reason why he shouldn’t lean in and kiss her again. Loud banging and shouting from the other side of the rubble breaks through his thoughts, brings him back to where they are and why they’re here. She slaps her cards down on the crate. “Gin.”  
  
~~~~~  
  
Hours pass. They play multiple games of gin, and then poker, and then goddamn Go Fish! until he can’t stand to look at the cards anymore. Hunger gnaws at him a bit, so he grabs them more water, watching to make sure she drinks it all. He studies her, wondering again what she’d be like somewhere where there’s nothing to worry that gorgeous, infuriating head of hers. He resumes his position on the crate, rolling his ass to get comfortable. Which doesn’t really work.  
  
She sighs and tips her head back against the wall. He can see her jaw working, her breath deliberate as she works through the pain. His frustration builds as he watches her. He finds himself wishing for a way to ease her pain. It’s a new feeling that he doesn’t know quite what to do with, so he says the only thing he can think of, something that’s been nagging at him for longer than he’d like to admit.  
  
“What is it you want, Shepard?” It comes out harsher than he’d intended, and he knows there’s no context for it, which she confirms by peering at him sideways, the crease between her eyebrows deeply lined.  
  
“Well, I’d like to get out of this rock pile, for one.”  
  
He shuffles the cards to keep his hands busy. He’d really like a smoke right about now, but she probably wouldn’t appreciate it and he’s not about to push his luck with her. “And then?”  
  
“A shower would be nice. Hot meal. What’re you trying to get at?” Her voice turns hard at his questioning and he can’t say as he really blames her. He considers dropping the whole thing, but decides it’s too important to let it slide.  
  
“What’s the plan, Shepard? What do _you_ want? After all this bullshit, running from one end of the galaxy to the other. Dancing for the Alliance. For _Cerberus_. You just gonna keep dancing for someone else?”  
  
“What _is_ this? You want me to make a list of my hopes and dreams? Picket fence? Two dogs and twelve hamsters? It’s not going to happen, Massani. The galaxy is going to shit and no one’s listening to me. Ever since I woke up from a two-year death nap, there’s been no _time_. And no luxury of wishful thinking. Why does it matter what I want when so very clearly _I_ will be the one banging the war drum and _I_ will be the one kicking asses down the street. And while everyone else stands around _completely shocked_ that oh, gee! the Reapers are here, I’ll get two seconds to say ‘No shit’ before I pick up another gun and start firing.”   
  
A strangled sort of frustrated noise comes out of her throat. Her fists clench and she pounds one into the crate underneath her. “It’s always another gun, another fight. There’s no end to it. There’s never been an end. And once the Reapers do their _thing_ ,” she takes a deep breath, her voice lowering, “I don’t think it’s ever going to end until we’re all dead and they fucking _win. Again_.” She sighs and closes her eyes, her shoulders slumping as much as they’re able in her suit of armor.  
  
She raises her gloved hand and shields her eyes from him, talking down to her lap. “It’s all I’ve ever known, Zaeed. Fighting’s all I’m good for—”  
  
“ _That’s_ fucking bullshit.”  
  
“--and I don’t...I don’t _know_ anything else. I’ve never had normal. I don’t even know what normal looks like.”  
  
“Two dogs and twelve hamsters sounds about right.” He doesn’t mean it as a joke, even though he says it with a light tone. He can see exactly that: Shepard covered in dogs and hamsters and maybe even--he has no fucking clue where this comes from, because it’s at odds with everything he knows about her--a kid or two and there’s something about the image the sticks in his brain and won’t shake loose.  
  
Her shoulders shake in a quick jerk and she looks up at him, not quite smiling.  
  
“I’m pretty sure twelve hamsters are _not_ normal.”  
  
“Aw, c’mon. You could breed them. You know how many people would pay to have a goddamn hamster bred by Commander Shepard?”  
  
“Cut it out.”  
  
“I’m serious. Could call ‘em… ‘kamsters’--”  
  
“That’s awful!”  
  
“Or ‘shamsters’ or ‘ _shepsters_ ’.”  
  
“Just quit, Massani.” She shakes her head and swats at his arm, mesh glove dinging off his armor. He grins at that and tries not to notice the way she looks at him from behind the hair that’s fallen over half her face. His heart trips a little though. There’s no denying that.  
  
She adjusts her leg, her attention captured by trying to make herself comfortable. He lets her do it, knowing she’d push him away and not thank him for fussing over her. When she leans forward, he gets a good look at her neck peeking out from behind her bleached hair. He wonders if she knows she has a birthmark back there, just off the side of her spine and almost hidden by her armor: a rosey patch on her brown skin that he wouldn’t have seen had he not been so close.  
  
“So, what about you.” Her voice interrupts his thoughts, more a statement than a question.  
  
He knows what she’s asking, but dodges out from under, not willing to think too hard about what had been his latest plan. It was a stupid idea to begin with. _Suicide by Omega, my ass. They’d gun you down before you even cleared the goddamn asteroid belt._  
  
“What about me?” (Already forming an answer, something along the lines of: could really use a cigar. Because if she can be flippant about it, so can he.)  
  
“What do _you_ want?” and the way she says it, pointedly not looking at him, he wonders if maybe she’s more invested in the answer than she might otherwise be if this were just her and Garrus talking. Or her and Samara. He files that little thought away as ‘quite interesting’, but just grunts at her.  
  
“You first. Didn’t answer my question.”  
  
“And I outrank you,” she sits up finally and points at him. “By age.”  
  
“Bloody hell. Never gonna let that die, are you?”  
  
“Hey. When a person’s lasted this long in this line of work, every year matters.”  
  
He eyes her finger and raises an eyebrow, which just gets him another of her infuriating grins. But she lowers her hand to fidget with the deck of cards he’d set aside, arranging them neatly in their pile. “So what’s it to be? Retire someday? Find a nice cabin in the woods? Oh! Open a strip club on Omega! I can see that—”  
  
“Bloody hell, Shep. No.”  
  
“Or maybe start up a new gang? Beat Vido at his own game?”  
  
“Hell, no!” _Way too many people involved with that idea._ Not that he has trust issues, of course.  
  
“So, what then?” She hands the cards to him, but doesn’t release them when he takes hold. Her eyes are blown wide with the pain meds, the corners of her mouth tight. He can see the tightness of pushing aside the pain in her body, the way she holds herself carefully. He knows that feeling all too well. “What’s an old merc do when he gets tired?” She asks like she really wants to know, not for him, but for herself. And he wonders, does she really not know what she wants? It’s a strange thought, that someone like her hadn’t thought about the future in some respect. But maybe that’s all there’s been: a career as a soldier. Nothing else. Full stop.  
  
 _Bullshit._  
  
No way in hell does someone like her get to where she is without knowing what she wants.  
  
 _She’s afraid to say it._  
  
Because to speak it is to believe that someday it may happen. To give her desires a voice, to put them out into the universe, gives those desires power. If she never speaks them, they’ll never have power over her. And she’ll never have to choose between the mission and what she wants.  
  
But she’s already told him what she wants. _Picket fence. Two dogs and twelve hamsters._  
  
To not be a soldier anymore.  
  
Maybe she hadn’t said it directly. But he’d heard it in her voice. The resignation to duty, the reluctant agreement that she’d be the one to carry the mantle whether she wants to or not. And he knows this of her to be true. She will never stop. Not until she’s dead. And maybe not even then.  
  
So how does he get her to say what she wants when she is clearly so unwilling to do so herself?  
  
“Someday, I’d like to put down the gun,” he says. It’s a truth he hasn’t ever admitted, even to himself.  
  
Emotions ripple over her face: distrust, disbelief, sadness. Loneliness. All twinned by the pain from her broken ankle. It’s hard to watch, but he forces himself to keep his eyes on her. To watch her jaw muscles twitch as she grinds her molars. To notice the creases in her brow when she scowls.  
  
She releases the cards and turns away, leans back on the wall with a strained sigh. “Me too,” she whispers.  
  
He wonders if it really is just that easy.  
  
Nothing is ever that easy. Not with her.  
  
“But?”  
  
She rolls her head against the stone to look at him. “But it’s never gonna happen. I won’t stop fighting. Not when I know we could lose it all. The Reapers...they change everything. I just...I’m a career soldier. I go where Command tells me to go. I can’t stop. Not now. Even if I’m…”  
  
“Tired of it all?” He finishes for her.  
  
The corner of her mouth quirks up in a tight smile. “Yeah. I thought--When I signed up, I was eighteen and the Alliance saved my ass. I’d be dead by now if it hadn’t been for the military. I figured, I’d go do my tour. Get the hell out after twenty years. But that never happened. Things just kept piling up, ya know? And I...never really had anywhere to _go_. No way in hell I’d go back to Earth. Too much...bad blood. Bad memories. The only place I know as home is on the deck of a boat, cruising through the stars. Where do you go from there, when you’ve been everywhere and seen twice as much? The only time I’m homesick is when I’m _not_ on a ship of some sort. Large or small. Fast or just chugging along. As long as there are stars outside and artificial gravity under my feet...” She huffs a small laugh. “How sad is that?”  
  
“Sounds to me like you have a life other people would bloody well envy.”  
  
“Maybe. But at what cost? Other people get homemade meals and someone to come home to every night. I get rations and...a space hamster.” She shakes her head and waves a hand in the air. “Ugh. I sound pitiful—”  
  
“Not pitiful to realize maybe you want more than what you’ve got. Reapers don’t change that. Hell. Entire galaxy could get sucked into a black hole tomorrow—” She rolls her eyes at him, but he ignores her, “--doesn’t change the facts. Last thing anyone should be doing is fighting those bastards without someone to fight _for_.”  
  
“So, do you?”  
  
“Do I what?”  
  
“Have someone to fight for?” She asks, so softly he has to hold his breath to hear her.  
  
He blinks rapidly at the direct question. He narrows his eyes, scans her face for signs of...something. Something to give him a clue as to what she’s got going on in that hard skull of hers. “Not right this second. Why? You offering?”  
  
She smiles the shyest smile he’s ever seen on her. Or anyone else for that matter. “I might be…” Her gaze drops down to his mouth and lingers for way too many heartbeats to be decent before she looks up at him again. “Depends on what you got.”  
  
He barks a laugh; can’t help himself. She takes his breath away like no one has ever done; but then, she isn’t like anyone he’s ever met. “Maybe you need to come here and find out,” he says. He wants to lean over and kiss her. But he’s also not quite certain she’s serious. Or tripping on pain meds.  
  
If either of them is going to be making a move on the other, it’s all on her.  
  
She’s in his face before he can blink, grabbing hold of his chest armor and pulling him to her with a determined look in her eye. She’s bites the corner of her lower lip and looks at him like he’s made of chocolate and she’s about to find out what’s in his creamy center (not a hard heart, he could tell her that; and not a cold heart, either, regardless of the mask he shows everyone to disprove otherwise).  
  
For all the swiftness in getting him there, she takes her time closing the distance. He can feel her breath on his chin, warm and still smelling like that jet fuel Gardner calls coffee. She blinks slowly, her jaw tight as she changes position which only makes him regret the course this conversation is going. The last thing they should be doing is fooling around—  
  
Her hold on his armor is strong enough to keep him from moving backwards. Her eyes are lit up like a beacon so he can’t look away from her. Not that he wants to. Her glove creaks when she tightens her hold on him, pulling him closer and pressing her lips to his and it’s nothing like the light kiss he’d given her before. Her hand releases him, slides around his neck to press the back of his head, fingers digging into his scalp. His own hand is in her hair, finally able to feel, to know, what it feels like as she kisses him so hard their teeth knock.  
  
He’s not fooling himself. Shepard is a woman whose attention is divided into a million fractures. The fact that she’s here with him right now is all luck. He’s not about to waste this opportunity by playing coy.  
  
So he kisses her back; let’s her know in no uncertain terms how invested his is. How very interested he is. He spends minutes exploring her mouth, trying to be mindful of her injury and not jostle her. He kisses down her cheek and jaw, bites at her earlobe until she laughs and drags his mouth back to hers. He closes his eyes and savors the flavor of her, licks the bitter salt of her lips and wonders if he’ll ever be able to stop, now that he has the taste of her in his mouth. When she moans, softly, deep in her throat, he knows he’s lost. Instantly addicted. He would give everything to have her make that sound again and never regret the loss.  
  
He wants to touch her everywhere, but can touch her nowhere. The sensible part of his brain tells him _Not here. Not now._ Because she deserves more than whatever they can manage to do in a dank cave, cold air brushing over exposed bits. He wants her on a bed, splayed out and writhing on sheets from passion, not pain. He wants her looking up at him with eyes glazed with desire, not meds. He tightens his fingers in her crazy, bleached hair and kisses her harder.  
  
He can’t stop. And she doesn’t tell him to stop. They kiss like teenagers in the back of a theater; high on hormones and lust. It goes on for minutes, both of them breathless, small noises of need lost in the other. He tightens his resolve then, pulls away from her feeling dazed. He pets her cheek, his thumb brushing over her swollen lower lip and willing his heart to slow.  
  
“Damn,” she says on a sigh and he can’t help his smile, because she draws the word out, conveying a certain level of positive appreciation. She opens her eyes and looks up at him, dreamy and languid. “You’re really good at that.”  
  
“Compliments,” he says, “will get you everywhere.”  
  
“God, I hope so.” The promise in those words does nothing to ease the aching tightness behind his codpiece.  
  
He groans and laughs and rests his forehead on her shoulder, cold armor cooling his passionate flush. “You’re killing me, kitten.”  
  
“That’s certainly not my intention. At least...not right this moment anyway.”  
  
“Somehow I have my doubts about that.” Reluctantly he pushes himself up and away, stifling a groan. His aches and pains from being tossed are nothing compared to hers. He helps her sit up from where she’d slid halfway down the wall. Her grimace is telling when she moves. He ignores her protests and lifts her leg at the knee, placing the bag full of datapads underneath her calf to keep her lower leg elevated. She grumbles, but acquiesces, squeezing her eyes shut.  
  
“Medigel wearing off?”  
  
“Maybe a little.”  
  
“Bullshit.”  
  
“You calling me a liar, Massani?”  
  
“I’m calling you a martyr. Apply more or I’ll do it for you.”  
  
“I never realized how bossy you are.” But she brings up her omnitool and sighs when the medigel is released, knocking her head back against the stone wall.  
  
“Not bossy. Just scared of that goddamn sawbones you’ve got. She scares me more’n you do.” He settles down beside her, their shoulders touching.  
  
She rotates her arm a little, rubbing their armors together. “She’s alright. Just protective.”  
  
“Like a mother bear. And you’re the cub. I bring you back too damaged she’ll have my guts for garters.”  
  
Shepard giggles at that, probably a little loopy from the medigel. “If anyone could, it would be Chakwas.”  
  
“That’s what I’m fucking saying.”  
  
She huffs a laugh again, shaking her head. “EDI? Can you give me an update?”  
  
“Yes, Commander. Progress has been slowed by the porous nature of the bedrock. When needed, Samara, Jack, Jacob, and Miranda are alternating holding a biotic barrier to keep the roof from collapsing. Once they are within a meter of the door, they plan to blow the rock inwards towards you. It will require a hasty exit once they are prepared.”  
  
Zaeed looks up a the ceiling where the crack looms down at them. “That thing isn’t going to hold once the rest of it goes.”  
  
Shepard looks up as well, chewing the inside of her cheek as she thinks. “We’ll have to make a break for it and hope whoever’s holding the barrier has enough strength to hold until we clear the door. Mine’s never been pretty, but I could probably manage to cover the two of us for a minute.”  
  
“I’ll carry you out,” Zaeed says. There’s no question this is what will happen. Not for him, anyway. “Might not be dignified. No way in hell are you going to try and run out on that broken ankle, much less use your biotics for some sort of bullshit heroics.”  
  
The look she gives him is almost offended. “Since when did you get all chivalrous? And I’m fully capable of getting out of here on my own two feet.”  
  
“Mr. Massani is correct, Commander,” EDI says. “Trying to run on a broken ankle will only risk your life and those of the crew. Being carried is the only viable option.”  
  
Shepard scowls at him. He can practically see the wheels turning. He knows the moment she concedes defeat. Her brow softens, she sighs, and her shoulders sag just a little. “I hate when you’re right. Let me know when they’re ready to blow the tunnel.” She points at Zaeed. “But I’m still making a barrier. It’ll keep any flying rocks off us.”  
  
“Acknowledged, Commander. I estimate forty-six minutes before the crew is ready.”  
  
Shepard gives him a look, daring him to argue. He doesn’t. Only raises an eyebrow and shrugs. If it turns out she can’t manage the barrier, there are crates that might protect them from the worst of it. She nods at him and relaxes back against the wall.  
  
~~~~~  
  
They sit in silence for a while, listening to the sounds of their rescue echoing louder the closer the crew gets. She lifts her hand and rests it on his arm, tapping her fingers gently. “Thank you,” she says.  
  
“For what?”  
  
“For kissing me like you meant it.”  
  
“Who the hell said I didn’t?” It’s his turn to scowl. Because where the hell did that come from?  
  
“Well. I guess...I just...do you...did you? I mean…”  
  
“Christ, you’re bad at this.” He hides a grin, but can’t keep the teasing tone out of his voice. She’s completely adorable when she’s befuddled. And her nose has taken on a rosey hue that he finds not only endearing, but distracting as well.  
  
She waves her hand, dropping it back on his arm. “Tell me about it.” She sighs heavily, looks pointedly at her feet. “If I were to…” she picks through her words carefully “...express interest in...pursuing something. With you. Would you be...amenable to that?”  
  
“Amenable?”  
  
“Yeah. You know. Something you’d like?”  
  
“I know what ‘amenable’ means, Kat.” He reaches out and taps her chin, turning her to face him. He’s never seen her so vulnerable, unsure of his answer and yet still asking. He admires her all the more for it. Rare to meet a person so willing to swallow life down whole, in whatever manner they can. “And the answer to your question is ‘yes’. Bloody hell, kitten. Yes.” Her brow knots for a moment before that shy smile curls the corners of her mouth again and he wonders if maybe he shouldn’t have a physical with the way his goddamn heart is thumping in his chest.  
  
She nods and taps his arm again before fiddling with a scrape on her armor. “So. You never found out what that thing was in the forest.”  
  
He frowns a bit from the subject change whiplash. “Naw. Like I said. Wasn’t curious. At least it had the courtesy to scare the local fauna. Why?”  
  
She shrugs, but it’s one of those faux noncommittal shrugs that he knows is leading up to something. “So, whatever planet this was. Not somewhere you’d want to retire?”  
  
“Remote jungle planet in the ass end of the Terminus? Not bloody likely. Be nice to have at least a decent restaurant you don’t have to crank up a ship’s FTL to get to.” He watches from the corner of his eye as she nods, doesn’t miss that she leans against him, their shoulders pressed tightly together. If he turned his head completely, he could bury his nose in her hair. He saves that thought for later, along with a long list of other ideas he has for when they’re not camped out in a cold, dank cave with water dripping from the ceiling and a gaggle of her crew rummaging through rock trying to get to them.  
  
“Bekenstein is nice,” she says. He’s not sure if the tone of her voice is feigned innocence, or if she’s just digging for information. But he wonders. It’s too close of a coincidence to his thoughts after the Illusive Man had contacted him all those months ago.  
  
He watches her closely when he says, “Yeah. Not bad. For a human colony.” But she gives nothing else away, blinking up at him with that goddamn infuriating smile that shows her pearly whites. His guts churn. Leery of her and wanting to kiss her all in one.  
  
Goddamn her.  
  
“Weather’s decent. Plenty of beach front,” he says. More as a way to distract himself from those lips of hers.  
  
“Close to the Citadel,” she adds. Like she’s trying to pitch him an idea that he’s maybe half sold on without letting on that she’s selling him something.  
  
“Uh huh.”  
  
“Kasumi and I went to a nice restaurant in Milgrom. Once we’d finished up with Hock.”  
  
“Did you, now?” This is definitely going somewhere, but he’s not about to make her fishing expedition any easier. “Never cared for the capital myself. Too bloody crowded.”  
  
A shout from the other side of the rubble draws her attention for a moment before she fixes her gaze on the far side of the room. “Those are the only two places I’ve been. Milgrom and Hock’s ginormous mansion.”  
  
He still hasn’t figured out her game, but he’s starting to wonder if there wasn’t something in his dossier from The Illusive Man that’s got her doing this spelunking expedition into his opinions on goddamn Bekenstein. He makes a mental note to talk to Kasumi about upgrading his personal security.  
  
“Used to be some property on the southern hemisphere I had my eye on a while back. Probably long gone by now. Remote. On a lake. Woulda been a nice place to kick my feet up. But—”  
  
“But?”  
  
“Mosta my credits went to tracking down Vido.”  
  
“Ah.”  
  
“Plenty of credits now, though. Thanks to your Illusive Man.”  
  
“He’s not _my_ Illusive Man—”  
  
“Relax, Kat. I know.” She puffs her cheeks out and expels the air in a rush, pushing her hair back off her forehead. Which leaves a bit jutting up at an odd angle that he can’t be bothered to tell her about. Because he finds her even more endearing. “Just saying. Might look into it again.”  
  
She nods and fiddles with the scratch on her armor again, picking at it with the fingertip of her glove. She has something to say, that much is clear. But the words seem stuck somewhere between brain and throat. So he waits her out, watching her chew her thoughts over.  
  
“I used to have a house. On Intai’sei.” She looks up at him and grins with that cat-that-ate-the-cream smile. “I won it. On a bet with an admiral.” A shadow crosses her face and she looks back down. “After I...after I _died_. There was no one for it to go to. So the Alliance sold it and Hackett donated the cash to a couple orphanages on Earth. Which is…” she waves her hand, chasing off fairies “...fine. But I kinda liked it. You know? Somewhere that was mine. Only went there a couple times. But it was so calm there. Peaceful. Nothing special about it. Just a prefab plunked down in the middle of an open plain. But the sunsets...they were spectacular. The sky would turn golden and then bright orange and then the deepest red. As if the entire planet was on fire. And the sun was so huge. It could have engulfed the planet. Then the air would shiver...like it was anticipating the cold night already before it’s happened.” She sighs and closes her eyes. Zaeed swallows, entranced by her. His stories have nothing on hers.  
  
“I miss that.” She looks up at him. There’s an honesty and sadness in her gaze. “I miss sunsets. I hardly ever get to see sunsets.”  
  
He cups her cheek in his glove. “Somewhere with sunsets, then,” he says. And it’s a promise he’d never thought he’d be the one to make. It scares him a little: what it means for him, and for her, and for whatever future might come. But he’s bloody well certain that if she’ll have him, he wants to make it happen for her.  
  
“Small problem with the whole Reapers thing,” she says.  
  
“Guess we’ll just have to beat the goddamn Reapers, then, won’t we?” Another promise. Not just her in this fight, but him as well. Whatever that turns out to look like.  
  
“ _We?_ ”  
  
He grunts at that. “Yeah. You. Me. Everyone else in the goddamn galaxy.” he pets her cheek with his thumb, puts on a braver face than he feels. He wonders when, _or if_ , they’ll see each other again after she dumps them all of on Omega. “Whatever you need, Katrina. Just call. Be at your side in a flash.” The weight of that statement hits him square in the chest: that he’s never said anything like that to another living soul. But he means every single goddamn word and would tear through a thousand husks to get to her side.  
  
“Don’t do that,” she says, almost a whisper. She looks up at him with those big brown eyes and he knows fuck-all besides he wants to drown in them.  
  
“Do what?”  
  
“Put me on a pedestal. It’s the last place I want to be. Anyone else, I can take it. But not from you. Please. Just...let me be human. Don’t make promises because they sound pretty. Don’t lie to me. That’s all I ask, Zaeed.”  
  
“Pretty sure this old dog ain’t got a flying chance in hell with a woman on a pedestal.”  
  
“Oh, I don’t know. You have your redeeming moments.”  
  
“Well, I don’t make promises I have no intention of keeping. And I ain’t never lied to you, not once.” He chucks her under the chin. “No reason to start now.”  
  
She tugs at the inside of her cheek with her teeth. Her eyes shimmer so her irises look like deep brown velvet and he sinks down into them, kissing her softly, whispering nothing and everything on her lips and wondering how his heart stays trapped inside his chest it’s pounding so hard. She leans up to him, tipping her head and inviting him to kiss her more. He gives her what she asks, featherlight kisses at the corner of her mouth and then deeper, harder, more. Until they’re both breathing heavy and he’s groaning, pulling away.  
  
“I want you, kitten,” he says against her cheek, lips brushing her skin. “Fuck, I--like nothing else. Like _no one_ else. How the fuck did you…” He opens his eyes and studies her, glories in her. “Goddamn beautiful.”  
  
Her eyes grow wide, like she doesn’t believe him. Which seems about the most goddamn impossible thing he’s ever heard. He vows to tell her as often as he can, for as long as he can without her ripping his head off and throwing it out the airlock. The thought makes him grin-- _because she would_ \--and that just makes her scowl at him. His cheeks start to ache as he grins harder.  
  
“Commander,” EDI interrupts. “Miranda reports they are nearly ready. She advises standing in the left corner closest to the door. Jack is prepared with her biotics to blow the remaining rubble to the right.”  
  
Shepard sighs, but doesn’t leave his embrace. She looks up at him and nods. He’s not certain what that’s an acknowledgement for. Perhaps for everything. Perhaps for nothing. But he nods back and releases his hold on her, gives her the bag of datapads to hold, and helps her over to the corner. He grabs their helmets, knocking the deck of cards into a mess on the floor where they float on the water. But there’s no time. The crack over their heads stutters and releases a fine shower of dust and pebbles.  
  
She activates her biotics and he can feel the tingle in his nerves as her barrier envelops them. He holds her close, back to breathing the filtered air of his helmet, and watches the door with a cautious eye.  
  
EDI begins the final countdown:  
  
3  
.  
.  
.  
2  
.  
.  
.  
1  
  
He picks her up and runs.  
  
  
  
 _fin_

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading! And thanks to puzzlegirl for giving the go-ahead to post it for everyone to share.


End file.
